


Flowers

by mystery_deer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 02:12:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17133095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystery_deer/pseuds/mystery_deer
Summary: Ten times Mycroft receives flowers, you won't believe what happens next





	Flowers

The first time Mycroft received flowers he threw them out without even glancing at the note. It was April fool’s day and he wasn’t in the habit of opening any unscheduled packages.

The second time Mycroft received flowers he asked Anthea to send them in to a lab to see if they could detect any traces of poison. The results came back negative but he ended up gifting them to a visiting diplomat whose wife “simply adored flowers” according to her.

The third time Mycroft received flowers it was a bad day. His brother had just been placed in prison for suspected murder (but was now out on house arrest thanks to Mycroft) and all Sherlock had said in the way of thanks was “I’d rather be in prison than stuck inside that boring flat.” When one of his subordinates entered the room holding a vase of flowers and squeaked out that someone had sent these for him Mycroft had taken them, closed the door, and chucked the vase out his office window as hard as he could so that it shattered on the sidewalk several feet below. He didn’t watch to see if any passersby looked up, instead walking over to his desk and resting his head on the cool wood.

The fourth time Mycroft received flowers he was a bit disturbed. He was visiting Sherlock in his holding cell and making him promise a long list of things he wouldn’t do for the next few months. He was exposing Sherlock’s 12th lie of the day when one of the inspectors walked in. “Geoff! It’s about time, let me out of this cage.” Sherlock demanded, kicking the bars of his cell. The other inmates grumbled but neither brother seemed to take notice as they continued to bicker.   
“Um…” Mycroft turned as the gray haired man placed a hand on his shoulder. He frowned and narrowed his eyes, tilting his head just a bit to the side. The man quickly released him. “This came to the precinct. It’s for you.” He held out a bouquet of flowers and Mycroft felt a wave of dread overtake him. He quickly masked his feelings and took the vase, thanking the man quietly.   
“Do you happen to know who-?”  
“Oh…no, no it was anonymous.”  
“That’s fine. If you’ll excuse me?” He rushed from the precinct without bidding his brother goodbye, throwing the bouquet in the garbage on his way out. He got in his car and closed his eyes, worrying that it was some sort of warning or sign of hostility. He’d need to get to bottom of this.

The fifth time he received flowers he was ready. He had researched “the language of flowers” and was more than ready to decode whatever sinister message these supposed “gifts” spelled out.   
Passion, Regret, Remembrance and friendship. He couldn’t think of anyone close to him that would be so sentimental. Maybe this was a threat against his brother’s doctor friend. He may have to have more security measures installed in their flat. He kept the flowers in his closet until they died, recording their colour in his personal notebook.

The sixth time the flowers were all different colors which wasn’t surprising but WAS frustrating as there had been no sign of any attack on his brother’s flat in the months that’d passed since the fifth bouquet. All of the current flowers seemed to symbolize some form of regret or remorse. Frustration, longing, passion again. He again stored this vase in his office closet. He was beginning to believe that this was a confession of some sort.

The seventh time Mycroft received flowers he called Sherlock and asked if he had worked on any cases involving flowers recently. John was the one who answered the phone. “No. Why?” He was such a rude man sometimes.   
“It doesn’t concern you. If you come into contact with any cases that involve the murder of a friend please alert me.” He hung up before John could answer and continued his work on the new treaty he was looking over.

The eighth time Mycroft received flowers he called Anthea into his office and shoved the vase into her  
waiting hands. “I want anyone who attempts to send flowers to this office put under suspicion and brought to me immediately.”  
“Yes sir. Do I need to know the reason?” Mycroft waved his hand dismissively.  
“My brother.” They both nodded and Anthea left the room without making any noise other than the click click click of her sensible heels. Confident that the threat would be neutralized soon he opened his laptop and continued to work, pleasantly at ease.

The ninth time Mycroft received flowers the man who had delivered them was questioned ruthlessly and mercilessly until he (very quickly) told them who they were looking for. Anthea had called Mycroft after apprehending the accused man and brought him to his office as she was directed to. She had two large men (intimidators and damn good ones) toss the accused into Mycroft’s office. “Will you be needing anything else?”   
“No, thank you Anthea.” As the room was cleared Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “Ah, so it’s you.” The detective inspector (he thought his name was Lestrade…Gregor? He was a good man or so he had thought) was clearly frightened out of his mind. Good. “I believe you know what this is about.” The DI shook his head vigorously.

“I don’t have a clue! Suddenly your assistant and two big blokes just barge into my office saying I need to come with them? Caused a real scene down at the precinct.” When Mycroft looked down at him with a disbelieving expression on his face Gregory stood and pointed a finger at the man. “Is this about Sherlock? Because you know you could just CALL or VISIT like a normal-”  
“What’s the code?” Asked Mycroft, tired of this attempt at distraction. Gregory looked ready to tear his hair out.  
“WHAT CODE?” Mycroft slid an empty vase towards him with his foot.   
“This code.” Lestrade looked like he was going to be sick. Good. He understood the severity of this situation. “You, apparently, have been sending me flowers. Nine bouquets if I count your attempt today. Why?” He hadn’t expected Lestrade to laugh but he supposed nerves could do that. He’d heard a man sing while under torture so this wasn’t that odd in the grand scheme of things. He gave the other man his best correcting glare and he stopped sounding like an overjoyed child.

“Um…I well…I sort of like you?” Mycroft blinked but let no emotion show on his face. Not once had he ever seriously entertained the possibility that someone was expressing feelings for him. He was skeptical. “Mate? Mycrof-”  
“Another tactic Lestrade?”  
“What?”  
“Please give the man you claim to ‘sort of like’ more credit than to be distracted by such an outrageous claim.” He slowly rose to his full height which, combined with the slight slant of his office made it so he appeared to be towering over the DI. “I don’t know what your game is Gregory Lestrade but trust me. I will find out. I will find out and destroy you for choosing me to play it with. Now Get. out. of. my. office.” Greg felt a disconcerting mixture of piss-your-pants scared, throw-up nervous and a deep regret that settled in his gut. Needless to say he did not feel well. However he was a man of action, or had been in his younger days, and that foolish foolish man reared his ugly head as Greg did NOT leave the room as his common sense was begging him to do but instead tried to become as menacing as possible and choose to talk back.

“I will leave your office after I’m done saying what I have to say.” Mycroft wondered if he could have this DI fired without Sherlock becoming angry or suspicious. Perhaps just demoted? “You can search high and low for whatever ‘game’ I’m playing but I assure you you won’t find squat. Because you want my 'game’? Here it is, I. LIKE. YOU. MYCROFT. Why did I send you flowers? Because I like you. That’s all this is going to amount to and if you don’t feel the same way fine. That’s kind of what I was expecting anyway.” He turned to leave but paused, speaking to the door. “…I wasn’t playing a game by the way. I’m not trying to manipulate you or get close to you to gain something. This isn’t a trick, ok?” Then he walked out, feeling so incredibly lucky that he hadn’t been shot or made to 'disappear’ some other way. He left Mycroft’s building and caught a cab back to his precinct, looking out the window as he felt a massive headache settling itself down in the corners of his eyes.

The tenth time Mycroft received flowers he thanked the woman he had purchased them from and placed them in a vase. It spelled out an apology. He had waited a few months to sort out everything in his mind. He had watched Gregory (he had come to call him Gregory) through this CCTV cameras. He had began tentative conversations with the man, having to convince him the first few times that he wasn’t going to attempt to kidnap him again. Whenever Gregory brought up the subject of romance (which wasn’t often) Mycroft felt the flames of embarrassment fan his face. He hadn’t apologized formally yet, not thinking it would suffice. Perhaps this would suffice. 

The first time Gregory got flowers he laughed until his sides hurt and tears ran down his cheeks.


End file.
